On the tube to Liverpool St (last Thursday), I see a baby literally throwing its toys out of the pram. Insert David Cameron joke here.

Next to look out for: a dog running past with a string of sausages in its mouth, pursued by an angry butcher.

***

An email I rather expected: Time Out say no to my application for that Staff Music Writer job. Ah well. Hope Emily gets it. As I was told by one kindly author, when one door closes… you’re ready to hack another door down with an axe. It’s put me in the spirit of hustling for work, and pitching ideas for projects. Less of the ‘don’t you know who I am’ attitude and more emphasis on the things I can do, how well, how fast and how regularly.

***
Quite a lot to write up of late.

To a design studio in Giesbach Road, Archway, to be interviewed and filmed for a project about the philosophy of blogging. Jonathan Hawkes is the interviewer, his company is called Evolve. I speak about what blogging means in terms of the future of consciousness. What keeping a digital diary, published free on the Web, means culturally, economically, spiritually. And why I started keeping this one in 1997, when it was considered a very odd thing to do indeed.

I give my answer to the latter as ‘osmotically’. Osmosis being the natural process of particles moving from an area of high concentration to one of less concentration. In my school biology class, I was taught the process via lengths of something called Visking Tubing. If you want anything from school to stick in the mind decades later, make it a joy to speak aloud. Visking Tubing.

In my case, I moved to blogging mainly because the Web seemed less populated than the real world, which I’ve never really understood properly. Depression can take the form of not so much wanting to stop living, as wanting to go someplace better. Somewhere you can call your own. And preferably, somewhere affordable. Hence the New Frontier of blogging in 1997. No Blogger, Livejournal, or MySpace; just simple HTML.

The last time I had my picture taken in Giesbach Road it would have also been about 1997. Erol Alkan’s old home a few doors down. Or rather, his bedroom in his parents’ place. That long ago. I can see him taking a photo of me playing his acoustic guitar there, and the photo then being on his wall, part of a montage. I have very short blond hair in this photo. The one on the wall, the one in my head. And I can also see a time when the beautiful Neil Codling from Suede came to visit.

Amongst the clutter of the last weeks’ clearance I find a sheet of Orlando lyrics that I must have faxed to Tim in the studio. Underneath it, I’ve written ‘Am at Erol’s’. This would have been Giesbach Road.

Today, Erol is a highly-acclaimed London DJ and remixer. I don’t see him so much, but I did bump into him under Suicide Bridge the other day. He gave me a hug.

Me: Hey, congrats on playing that big Trafalgar Square event with the Chemical Brothers!
Erol: Well, I would have done. But they forgot to set up my decks in time.
Me: Ah well. I presume you still were paid…?
Erol: Oh, my agent handles all that.

I wince at setting this exchange down. What bad form it is to refer to the money side of things. It’s an attitude I’m trying to get out of. But how nice to have an agent to deal with the unpleasant detail of payment. It’s about time I got one.

There’s been a few instances in the last few weeks when people I know and like have asked me to DJ at their events:

Event Organiser I Know And Like: Will you DJ at my club night in New York?

Me: Gosh! Yes, of course! Never been to the US, let alone NYC.

Organiser: Thing is, I can’t afford to pay your air fare. But maybe you can set up other gigs at the time to help top it up?

Me: Um, it’s unlikely.

Organiser: Well, how about my next London night? Can’t pay you much more than what you’ll have to spend on the tube there plus the taxi home, though…

So I had to say no to both offers, the second because I’m already doing White Mischief in November, plus a private party in Norwich next weekend. Add to the Stockholm appearance on the 19th, and that’s more than enough DJ bookings for a while. Apart from anything else, I’ve become rather fond of going to bed at a decent hour.

It really is about time I started earning proper, regular money. Or at least, earn the income I give the impression I already earn. Pass me that axe.

Oh all right, the fluffy, spongey axe.